


Birthday Traditions

by ladyeternal



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Schmoop, Tissue Warning, non-explicit Wincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-16
Updated: 2014-06-16
Packaged: 2018-02-04 20:19:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1791946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyeternal/pseuds/ladyeternal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, even the simplest gestures have more meaning than we think they do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Birthday Traditions

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: If I owned Supernatural, there would be unabashed pr0n. I own little more than a tabby that gets destructive when he feels ignored and am only playing with these worlds for my own amusement and the free entertainment of others.
> 
> Beta’d by the truly magnificent [](http://secondplatypus.livejournal.com/profile)[**secondplatypus**](http://secondplatypus.livejournal.com/). Written for [](http://darth-firefly.livejournal.com/profile)[**darth_firefly**](http://darth-firefly.livejournal.com/)’s [prompt](http://tiptoe39.livejournal.com/1303389.html?thread=6212189#t6212189) on [tiptoe39](http://archiveofourown.org/users/tiptoe39)’s [2012 Waff-a-thon](http://tiptoe39.livejournal.com/1303389.html) during a night of FAR too little sleep. But I’ve been in desperate need lately to write something that wasn’t laden with angst, and here it finally is.
> 
> Feedback is adored, so if you like the fic, please comment! And the more details the better; I love knowing what people like about my work.
> 
> Music: [Happy Birthday – Concrete Blonde](http://lyrics.wikia.com/Gracenote:Concrete_Blonde:Happy_Birthday)

~ooooOOOoooo~

 

Those dumb-ass balloons were on his cake again.

Sam tried not to be grumpy about them. He really did. He was honestly glad that Dean remembered his birthday at all most years, and that his occasionally-raging-jackass of an elder brother bothered to do anything more than wrap something shoplifted from a gas station in newspaper and call it good.

He’d even sortve missed the cheesy-looking things during his first birthday at Stanford, since Brady’s idea of celebrating his nativity was offering to let him win at beer pong. Jess had made the cake for the two birthdays she’d spend with him from scratch, buttercream frosting included. As decoration, she’d piped some kind of scallopy edging, wrote ‘Happy Birthday, Sam!’ and his age across the top, and scattered some sprinkles around the edges before sticking candles on it.

It wasn’t that the cakes Dean picked up were bad. The man knew his desserts, and could smell it if there was a decent baker within 50 miles that he could charm, hustle or cajole into making a proper cake for Sam’s birthday. But no matter where they were or what was going on around them, when that cake hit the table in the motel, those damned balloons were on it.

After they’d eaten the obligatory portions and were cleaning up for bed, Sam picked up the cheap pieces of molded plastic. There were five altogether, each designed to look like clusters of red, yellow and blue balloons on strings; the taper from the “knot” in the “strings” formed the prong that was sunk into the cake, and a couple pieces of glitter still clung to them here and there.

Every year that Sam could remember, whether John had been there or not, Dean had put these stupid things on Sam’s cakes. And every year when his birthday was over, Dean carefully cleaned them, wrapped them in a piece of scrap flannel, stuck them in a Ziplock bag and put them in his clothes duffel.

Sam idly wondered how hard Dean would bitch if they accidentally got thrown out sometime. They were just stupid plastic balloons. Why was Dean so damned careful about keeping them to reuse every year?

When Dean came back in from taking the trash over to the dumpster, he saw Sam examining the plastic decorations and paused. “They’re a bitch to clean if we leave ‘em overnight, Sammy,” he observed as he closed the door, his tone careful.

Sam’s hand closed around them as he half-turned to look at Dean. There was something uncertain around the edges of his brother’s face just now, and it was finally the impetus Sam needed. “What’s so important about these things, anyway, Dean?”

Dean strode forward, both hands reaching up to open Sam’s hand and remove the cake-sticky decorations from his brother’s giant palm. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Following Dean into the bathroom, he watched as Dean used a washcloth and their meager supply of dish soap to carefully clean each balloon cluster. “You’re more careful about those than you are some of our weapons, Dean. And you put them on my birthday cake every year. Maybe when I was a kid, it made sense, but now? I guess I’m just wondering what’s so special about them?”

The beautiful face of his elder brother was shuttered as he finished washing the remnants of birthday cake from the decorative pieces. Sam stayed close by as Dean stepped past him out of the bathroom and found the flannel and baggie that he always kept them in.

This time, however, Dean sat on the bed and stopped, one hand cradling the fragile pieces of plastic and the other clenching and unclenching around the soft square of fabric that cushioned them. Sam remembered when that had been a shirt of Dean’s; memorable because it was one of the few pieces of their clothing that had to be scrapped because it had shrunk while being laundered rather than being annihilated during a hunt.

A long moment passed in which neither brother spoke; Sam hovering over Dean, and Dean not looking at him, both of them gazing at the red, yellow and blue plastic balloon clusters in Dean’s right hand.

“We were out shopping one day,” Dean started slowly. “You and me and Mom. You weren’t… maybe you were three or four months old. They were in a little clearance basket near the checkout line, and I remember asking Mom if I could buy those to put on your first birthday cake. She laughed and said I didn’t have any money to buy them with, but right when I started to get disappointed, she picked ‘em up and added ‘em to our stuff. Said I could pay her back when I was old enough to start getting an allowance.”

Sam was quiet. Speechless. He’d never guessed.

“Anyway, those ones didn’t make it onto your first cake, or your second. Mom had let me put ‘em in my room for safe-keeping, and they got toasted in the fire. It was right before your third birthday that I saw ‘em in another store, but I knew Dad would never’ve let us buy ‘em. So I snatched ‘em when he wasn’t looking.” A wry smile curled Dean’s lips, though he still wouldn’t meet Sam’s eyes. “First thing I ever stole.”

The room fell silent again. Slowly, carefully, Sam crossed the distance between them and knelt between Dean’s legs. With reverence born of new appreciation, Sam took up the flannel from Dean’s left hand and carefully wrapped each plastic decoration into it as he’d so often watched Dean do, then slipped the precious bundle into the baggie, zipped it closed, and nestled it gently into Dean’s open duffle bag.

When he looked up, Dean’s eyes were on him, questioning and moist, the red of restrained tears making the irises appear that much greener. Sam let himself get lost in their color for a moment, indulged in ways he rarely allowed himself anymore.

He understood now. And more, he was grateful for the knowledge, wished he’d had it sooner, so he could have appreciated the subtle expression of his brother’s love and dedication over the years instead of being resentful over seeing something that looked so cheap and childish.

They weren’t cheap to Sam anymore. They were priceless. Possibly even more precious to him than they were to Dean.

The confusion in Dean’s eyes slipped away, the corners of his mouth turning up in a smile to match the tender one Sam wore. It drew Sam’s hands up to frame that beautiful face, enticed him to brush those soft lips with a gentle kiss.

“Can I open my present now?” Sam murmured, low and husky, just a hint of a tease in his voice.

“Anytime you want, Sammy,” Dean replied. His arms slipped around Sam’s neck like they belonged there, and when Sam’s longer arms crushed their bodies together, Dean sighed eagerly into Sam’s frame.

Some birthday traditions require no explanation.


End file.
